


You Have To Let Me Go

by JMount74



Series: Febuwhump [13]
Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Airplane Crash, Gen, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:34:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29692314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JMount74/pseuds/JMount74
Summary: ‘Airplanes are funny things,’ he thinks, as his world is ending all around him.
Series: Febuwhump [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2137590
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	You Have To Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt spin: Confession + Airplane; and the Febuwhump prompt 28: You Have to Let Me Go.

_‘Airplanes are funny things,’_ he thinks, as his world is ending all around him. _‘They’re simultaneously such great feats of engineering, physics and Math, yet still likely to kill you if you crash.’_

Because he is, of course, crashing. Nothing his top-of-the-range plane can do about it, nothing he or his co-pilot can do about it and nothing any designer of planes could probably do about it.

Facts are facts, Scott thinks, and the fact is he is going to die in approximately 25 seconds. 

It’s amazing he even has time to think. And he wills up a picture of his brothers and grandmother to hold on to, even as the ground is suddenly…

The next conscious thought the pilot has is ‘ow’. This is quickly followed by nausea so strong he knows his stomach is prewarning of an imminent event, and he struggles to remove his mask before he throws up into it. But it’s not easy, for some reason his limbs are not obeying him and for the life of him he can’t remember why.

Did he go drinking again in the ruined church? That awful excuse for vodka and the even worse one for whisky were definitely enough to give him a hangover this extensive, as well as temporary paralysis. He’d even heard of some going blind from drinking too much of the locally produced moonshine.

But it was the groan behind him that shocked him back to reality.

They had crashed, shot down by the seemingly friendly people they were here to save. Of course, no-one could tell a rebel and a friend apart in a civil war based on creed and culture, and both sides hated the World Government and the individual nations that were supposed to be helping.

USAF were here as humanitarian aid, escorting convoys to get food and medicine to the people on the ground. To the rebels that made them legitimate targets, even if they had orders not to engage the enemy. Because, unless you came from the area, you didn’t know who your enemy was.

Scott had just finished his run. He and his co-pilot, Lieutenant Alvin James were returning to base, supposedly over friendly airspace when his instruments screamed missile lock and they were dodging and weaving, Scott flying while James tried to get them out of this mess. It didn’t matter how hot of a pilot he was, there was only so much one could do with a SAM on his six.

‘Ok, Scott, you need to focus.’ He needed to get them out of there before someone came looking that was less than friendly. Could he move? Yep. It was painful, but the new designs of these fighter jets gave pilots more security in a crash. There was a hole in his leg that was slowly bleeding, and what felt like a dislocated shoulder that would make things difficult, but that that was all that was wrong was testament to the skill Scott had. Even in a stricken jet he’d made an almost textbook landing.

‘James. Status report,’ he barked. Unsure if his co-pilot would have sustained more injuries as the back of the plane had been hit, the groans were only a slight reassurance. ‘Report!’ he barked a little more sternly, and James replied, ‘yes sir.’ His voice was weak and barely audible, and Scott wasn’t about to comment on that. 

‘I don’t think I’m coming with you this time, Captain.’ There was a subdued quality about his voice, with an undercurrent of pain. And fear. That was all the motivation Scott needed to get out of his seat. Kneeling on the seat so he could get a better view, he saw that James was right.

There was a piece of something sticking out of his side, pinning him to the seat. No amount of basic first aid was going to help him now, and by the look from James, his friend knew it too. ‘Sorry, Captain. Looks like I’m flying out early.’ 

Dragging himself out of the plane and making his way around to James’ side as best he could, Scott reached in with his undamaged arm and grasped his shoulder. ‘I’m here, Al. I won’t leave you.’ He was shot a grin of undisguised relief, even as James asked him to go.

‘I’m not leaving you alone, Al. Don’t ask me to.’ The grin returned. ‘Is that an order, Sir?’ Scott grinned in return. Nothing was said for a couple of moments. James sighed.

‘I have a confession to make.’ Scott quirked an eyebrow. ‘Uh huh. What kind of confession?’ His friend laughed weakly. ‘That bet you lost, the one where you had to go steal the good whisky from the Major’s office?’ Scott’s other eyebrow joined its’ partner. ‘I totally rigged it so you’d lose. The boys all paid good money to see if you could outsmart Major Riggs.’ He drew in a breath. ‘It was so worth it.’

‘You bastard,’ Scott replied fondly, squeezing his shoulder a little more. He’d seen death before out in the ‘field, it wouldn’t be long now. It was at that moment they both became aware of noises approaching.

‘Go,’ Al said. ‘Go. If they capture you…I couldn’t bear that. Please, Scott. You have to let me go and get yourself to safety.’ His voice was barely above a whisper. 

Scott knew it was too late for that. Besides which, no way was he leaving his best friend now. ‘None of that, Al. Just rest easy, my friend, and fly straight.’ 

James smiled and closed his eyes.


End file.
